


Advent: Underneath

by FyrMaiden



Series: Klaine Advent 2015 [21]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt wishes that his fans accepted Blaine for who he is. Blaine is unperturbed. (Skank!Blaine.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advent: Underneath

The thing that upsets Kurt the most about the comments he gets when he posts pictures of Blaine and their daughter is the judgement of his worth as a man, as a father, and as a husband. Kurt had thought he'd left that behind him when he graduated, that - just maybe - things would be different in the ‘real world’. 

Realistically, he knows he should have known better. He interned for Vogue (the dot com part, but still Vogue) when he was eighteen. He knows that gossip and judgement never go out of style. But he chose Blaine, chose to keep loving him even when it was hard, chose to marry him and raise a child with him. His choices should, he thinks, matter. 

And yet, every time Blaine's face appears on his Instagram, any time he so much as mentions him, the echo chamber opens its doors all over again. 

_ He's so awful,  _ they say, as if he can't see them. As if neither he nor Blaine, nor their daughter who is growing like a weed, can see them. As if negativity exists in a void. Or they just don't care.  _ How old is he? Like, I grew out of that when I was 17.  _

_ He's so - blah. Kurt deserves someone way prettier. What does he look like?!  _ As if Blaine's suits and shirts are rags. As if it would matter if they were. The first time Kurt had ever seen him, he'd been sitting on the steps of his building, wearing a leather jacket whose day had faded into long obscurity and black denim that showed more thigh than it covered. Kurt had thought he looked beautiful, the ring in his nose matching the ones in his ears. He'd been feeding a cat pieces of cheese from a sandwich he was eating, scratching its ratty ears when it would let him. If anyone knew a little about book covers, it was Kurt. 

_ Kurt could do better.  _ As if he'd want to. As if his choices don't matter. As if Blaine is defined as a person by the pink in his hair or the polish on his nails. Blaine, who plays piano like he was born to it, who composes such beautiful music, who dances with their daughter and the roomba and, sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, photographs of Kurt. Kurt can't imagine that there is anyone better. 

Blaine says, straightening his tie for him before they get out of the car for another awards show, for another premiere, another party, that he needs to stop focussing on the negative comments. He has the power to block them. He could, if nothing else, at least triage the abuse. He can set alerts for his friends. He can -

Kurt kisses him square on the mouth as the door opens and flashbulbs explode, and holds his hand tight as they work the carpet together. Inside, away from prying eyes, he runs his fingers through the soft styled waves of Blaine's hair, separates the pink from the black with tender touches. Blaine wears a small stud in his nose now, keeps his heavy jewellery beneath the layers of his clothes, and Kurt leans against him, lets Blaine hold him as he always has. 

“I wish they knew you,” he says, again, and Blaine smiles that wide sunshine smile he always has. 

“The people who matter do,” he replies. 

Kurt knows it's true, deep in his heart. But it doesn't stop the stab of hurt when his mentions blow up again. 

_ I bet he's cheating on him. He's such a skank. _

Because underneath it all, he's scared that Blaine may be a better person than he could hope to be. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Blaine says, rolling onto his side to face him. Kurt lowers his phone and sighs. 

“I love you,” he says. Blaine leans in and presses a kiss to his wrist, the closest thing to his mouth. 

“You're okay, Kurt. I love  _ you _ , not your fans.”

Kurt turns his phone off and lets himself be buoyed by Blaine's faith in them, and then by his tongue. 


End file.
